


When the owl calls

by DeadByJune



Category: Paladins: Champions Of The Realm (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, He is clearly hurting, He probably has depression, I suppose this could be read with romantic undertones, Implied Kinessa, Jenos is pretty full of himself, Kinessa is like a daughter to him, Owls, Strix's alignment is lawful tired, Symbolism, it involves owls, philosophical stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 06:17:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20223196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadByJune/pseuds/DeadByJune
Summary: An old sniper meets a young god, and the two keep each other company throughout the night. Around the campfire, new insights are born and old memories resurface. Despite their differences, it seems as though the two might have more in common than they initially thought.





	When the owl calls

**Author's Note:**

> This is a oneshot fanfic I’ve been working on for what must have been at least half a year (despite how short it is). A lot of things happened in my life during the period I worked on and off about this, but here we are. The story was originally born out of the realization there is a severe lack of Paladins fanfiction out there, so I decided that if I wanted more content, I would have to make it myself. Strix and Jenos are easily two of my favorite champions and with how different they are their dynamic fascinated me. I was however quite pleased to find that, in a way, the two do have some things in common. I hope that whoever reads this enjoys it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

“So, you’re a god…”  
  
“Yes. I am indeed.”  
  
He shifted in place, poking the fire with a long stick. The silver-haired creature watched on in quiet fascination, seated opposite of him, unmoving.  
The woods were dark and silent at this hour. They were separated only by the flames of the campfire that, with its fiery fingers, reached up towards the verdure of the branches overhead. From here they could not even see the night sky through the lush foliage. They were alone, but together.  
  
“I don’t really believe in gods,” the man broke the silence after a while.  
  
“But I am sitting right before you.” The god cocked his head to the side in bewilderment, visibly taking offense to the confession. “What more does your kind need to believe? Are you truly so arrogant as to deny the existence of a god, when one is seated right before you?”  
  
“I can see you just fine, but that’s not what I meant. Believing would suggest I put my faith in you, but I don’t.”  
  
For a while then the young god was silent, lost in contemplation.  
  
“Then, if not in us, what do you put your faith in?”  
  
“Myself,” he said, looking up to meet his eyes shortly. “I’ve only ever had myself to rely on. No god comes when you call.”  
  
Once more, the god was silent.  
  
“As much as I hate to admit it, I suppose you are right,” he then stated. “You are a wise man…”  
  
“Not wise,” he replied, fixing his dark stare on the campfire once more. The flames set the rich brandy of his eyes aglow, reflecting the embers that floated up into the darkness like distant memories. He raised his cup to his lips, taking a thoughtful swig. “Bitter, and tired of fighting…”  
  
“You must have fought many battles.”  
  
“Countless. Some of them against myself.”  
  
“What, exactly, do you mean?”  
  
“That some of the toughest wars,” and he pointed his finger towards his temple, “are only fought here.”  
  
The god gazed down into his own cup that sat untouched in his hands, overthinking these words for a while, until he nodded.  
  
“I believe I understand. And yet, I cannot help but condemn the acts of violence you have committed.”  
  
“Well, kid-”, he let out a joyless chuckle, “get in line.” The faintest curve of a weary smile came to his lips.  
  
“All that your kind knows is conflict. Why do you seek to destroy that which you do not understand? Ever since the dawn of mankind you have been at war with each other, trying to take what does not belong to you and laying waste to everything that lies in your path. You are a cruel species that fights, solely because you desire power and wealth. I have seen it myself, many times.”  
  
“I beg to differ. Some people fight to protect what they love.”  
  
“What they love? Such as what?” He scoffed, his chest puffing out with the kind of cockiness only young gods inherently possess.  
  
“Other people.”  
  
This gave the deity pause, his expression falling into one of perplexity.  
  
“Sometimes, good people do bad things. It doesn’t make them bad people. It makes them human.”  
  
A moment passed, and the god looked up again.  
  
“Who was it?”  
  
The sniper lowered his gaze, consciously.  
  
“Who was what?”  
  
“The one you fought for.”  
  
For a long time, neither of them said anything. There was only the crackling of the fire, and the ghostly call of an owl somewhere in the quiet woodland.  
  
“She was like a daughter to me…” He then finally answered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. He downed the rest of his cup.  
  
“What happened to her?” The deity asked, his childlike curiosity piqued by the glimpse of raw emotion.  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
“My apologies.”  
  
For a moment he stared thoughtfully into the fire, a grave and solemn expression on his face.  
  
“The thing you call wisdom… It’s really just character. Years of struggle and disappointment. It’s bound to make you tough. Owls are wise birds. They’re careful and patient. But wisdom inherently precludes boldness. That is why owls make poor heroes.”  
  
“You said you fought to protect someone you loved. Is that not the very definition of a hero?”  
  
“I’m not a hero. Not anymore. I’m just a man who realized the responsibility that comes with freedom, and heeded the call when that freedom was threatened to be compromised…”  
  
“You can be both a man and a hero. Bravery does not demand for one to be extraordinary, the same way one does not need to be faultless to be good. I can know this. I myself was just a man once.”  
  
The sniper looked up, the same inscrutable expression on his face, not speaking a word as he stared into the glowing eyes of the god across from him. For a moment, they only sat and gazed at one another. Radical opposites - one, young and radiant like the ethereal silver moon, kissed by stardust and crowned with midnight; the other, weathered by the passing of the seasons like the dark earth below, the fine lines in his face like the annual rings of trees, stripped of their bark, yet rendered all the more beautiful with age.  
  
A few seconds passed before the god let out a chuckle, lifting his gaze up towards the slivers of moonlight that fell through the canopy of leaves.  
  
“Perhaps, if there are more people out there like you, there might be hope for this world yet…”  
  
“Maybe, yes,” added the sniper, following the other’s almost wistful stare with a pensive look in his eyes. “That’s the thing about hope…”  
  
“What is?” He glanced back over at him, locking gazes through the smoke of the fire.  
  
The soldier mustered the faintest of smiles before slowly shaking his head.  
  
“For as long as we exist, it springs eternal.”


End file.
